Maneater

Last night was the glorious Maneater Party. This is an annual tradition that started 21 years ago with a group of friends who decided to have a get-together and cook some chili. Today it has become one of Charlotte’s most enjoyable social events. It is still hosted by the same group of guys, and attended by their friends and friends of these friends. Perhaps because of the social integration, it just seems to have a good energy about it. Everyone is friendly, and there doesn’t seem to be that cattiness and/or pretentiousness that can sometimes accompany gay soirees. The chili is delicious, and they always have a cute bartender mixing margaritas. All of which combine to make this one of my favorite nights of the year.

I spent the first part of the evening mingling and catching up with acquaintances. Once the chili was served, however, I had some time to sit back and look over the crowd. I noted several of the men there I had dated at one time or another. There was the guy I picked up at jury duty. I can’t remember why that didn’t work out…I think he stole one of my Joni Mitchell cds. Then I saw the guy who told me about his penis pump on our first date—I definitely remember why that didn’t work out. I even saw the guy I really liked until he let it slip that he was married. I guess at this point he’s come out (let’s hope so for his wife’s sake!) and is now openly gay. He kept staring at me, but I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking. I debated about talking to him, but decided that if he’d cheat on his wife—he’d certainly cheat on me. So I turned my attention back to my chili and my friends.

After the party, I was surprised to find myself in such a good mood. I half expected to be depressed after seeing so many failed attempts at finding a life partner. With a bit more reflection, though, I had to admit I was proud of myself. Sometimes I feel like I don’t really put myself out there—but after the party I realized that I have been putting myself out there and dating. I haven’t met Mr. Right, but at least I haven’t given up either. And I didn’t see anyone at the party that I felt like I had missed an opportunity. The guys I had broken things off with still didn’t appear to be what I was looking for. Happily there were plenty of new prospects at the party who could be what I’m looking for.

So I won’t beat myself up for not finding a man before I turned 40. The shame isn’t in failing, it’s in not trying. And I have been trying. But speaking of shame, it’d be a shame not to have some more of that fabulous chili. I wonder if they had any leftovers…..

Better not Butternut

Woo hoo! I just got my taxes done, and it looks like I am due for a refund.
I debated about paying someone to do them this year, since I’m still on a budget, but finally took them to my accountant. When I first graduated from dental school, I would do my own tax returns. Over the years, with investments and property etc, it just became too complicated. I didn’t trust myself to do them correctly, and the time it would take me to figure them out wasn’t worth it to me. Better to pay someone who knows what they’re doing. It’ll get done faster, and I’ll still get to reap the benefits.

Once I get my refund, I intend to treat myself to a nice dinner in a fancy restaurant. I have been in a bit of a food rut lately, since I’m trying to do my own cooking—and my attempts to expand my dietary repertoire have had limited success. The other day I was browsing through the produce section and saw that they had butternut squash on sale. Hey, I thought to myself, I love butternut squash! I’d never made it before, but there was a sticker on the squash with instructions: “Cut squash in half, remove seeds, and heat until tender.” That didn’t sound too difficult, so I bought one. Never again.

What they neglect to tell you on the sticker is that butternut squash can only be cut in half with a bone saw. I was using the sharpest kitchen knife I had, and doing only slightly better than a monkey trying to cut open a coconut with a plastic spork…..and I have opposable thumbs! I know I spent 45 minutes hacking that stupid squash apart, and as much trouble as I was having, it’s a miracle the knife didn’t slip and hack off one of my fabulous opposable thumbs. Once it was cut open, I still had to scoop out the seeds and cook it. By the time it was all done, I had completely lost my enthusiasm. I decided the next time I had butternut squash, it would be in a restaurant where I could pay someone else to deal with the hassle of cooking it.

I guess the lesson to be learned here is that sometimes in the kitchen, as well as in your finances—it’s better to just pay someone who knows what they’re doing. It’ll get done faster, and you’ll still get to reap the benefits.